


Mistakes Cost

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Series: Whumptober 2020 [20]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Castiel's Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Day 20, Gen, Gore, Injury, Lost - Freeform, Medieval, Shock, Spears, Time Travel, Toto I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore, Violence, Vomiting, Whumptober 2020, field medicine, vasovagal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27142747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: Sam, Dean, and Castiel accidentally end up on the fringes of a battle in medieval times, and Sam is gravely wounded.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Whumptober 2020 [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947223
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Mistakes Cost

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober 2020
> 
> No 20. TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE'RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE
> 
> Lost | Field Medicine | Medieval

The shrill whinny of terrified and injured horses assaulted Sam’s ears. Men screamed. The heavy, metallic scent of blood tinged the air. An arrow whistled by Sam’s head. It seemed as if one of the battling armies was being pushed back towards them.

Castiel grabbed him, and Dean, and hauled them behind a rocky outcropping.

A spear was thrown, meeting a body with a meaty thunk.

God, it sounded like some of the deaths in _The Lord of the Rings_.

Except this wasn’t _The Lord of the Rings_.

“Cas, where the friggin’ hell are we?” Dean cried.

“Yeah, that’d be great information to have!”

Cas shushed them, and then they were on the run again.

Sam managed to rush ahead of Cas, and that’s when he saw the lone warrior. He was cavalry, dressed in riding leather, his horse in plated armor. Both were stained red. It was impossible to tell if the soldier was injured. His hair was long and loose, grimy with dirt, sweat, and blood.

Sam paused, barely able to breathe.

There was no way the soldier hadn’t spotted them.

He reared his horse towards them, and kicked the beast into a trot, and then a canter.

“Cas!” Sam cried.

The soldier had a spear, the end of it hooked and barbed.

Sam dodged out of the way, nearly getting trampled by hooves, but that’s when immense pressure met him.

He stood, stunned, not knowing what had happened.

Dean was screaming.

Cas was screaming.

And the angel jumped high into the air, knocked the soldier off his horse, and smote him where he lay, eyes burning out in golden light.

Fuck, that would probably draw attention.

The horse ran off, away from the battle, away from death.

Pain hit Sam like a god damn truck, and he collapsed.

It wasn’t long before he was sweating, shuddering. Thankfully, blood barely left him, the pressure of the spear sticking out of his gut saving him from that.

Dean ran over, holding him, and Castiel came too.

“We have to get him out of here! More will come.”

“Where the hell is _here_?” Dean questioned.

“I might have messed up the sigils. We’ve traveled back in time.” Screams sounded in the distance, and the clash of swords rang and scraped through the air. “Too far back.”

“Okay, Sammy, it’ll be okay,” Dean said. “Lift him on three. One, two… three!”

Sam bit his lip, making it bleed, as they lifted him. But he knew he had to hold in his scream.

It wasn’t sanitary, but Castiel ended up levitating a stick into his hand, and shoving it into Sam’s mouth. The taste of earth, and wet wood seeped onto his tongue, but it was nowhere near as uncomfortable as the eight-foot spear sticking out of him. Had it come out the other side? It was impossible to tell. Agony could do that, could make you completely unaware of just how injured you were, and where you were truly injured. He’d been through it many a time in his life.

Castiel and Dean set off at a jog, and Sam’s screams were muffled by the stick in his mouth, which he bit down on, teeth scraping.

The stick cracked.

Then broke.

Sam spit out the pieces.

The sounds of battle died down the farther his family took him, and then they set him down in the shelter of a great tree, ferns cushioning him.

Dean grabbed the spear. Sam grunted, and thrashed.

“I take this out,” he said, “and Cas, you heal him.”

“I can’t.”

Dean’s eyes were wide with fear. And Sam felt like he was going to be sick.

“What do you mean _you can’t_?”

“When I made my mistake, I used too much of my power. Killing that soldier was all I had left in me.”

“Great, so we’re stuck in freakin’ medieval times, and my brother’s gonna die from a spear in his gut because you decided killing a guy was more important.”

“He would’ve come back! He had an axe in his hilt. He would’ve finished off Sam, and then you. And I could’ve ended up beheaded. Lord knows what that would do to me.”

“Well, the Lord ain’t here.”

“G-guys,” Sam panted out.

The action of talking, of his diaphragm contracting to push air out of his lungs, and up to his vocal cords, where the vibrations went through the shaping of his lips with sound, scraped agony through him. A deep throb in his gut, that traveled down to his hip and pelvis, and wrapped around to his back, and punched along his ribs, left his vision black.

But Sam could still feel. Even as he was hot, and cold all at once. Even as his skin tingled, and he felt like he was boiling on the inside. Even as his head spun, and he knew he was going to throw up.

But god, he couldn’t throw up.

His chest hurt. His head hurt.

Was he even breathing?

“The spear was barbed,” Castiel said.

“Fuck.”

“So what do we do?”

“Angel blade,” Dean said. He must’ve been holding his hand out. “Hold him down.”

With his angelic strength, Castiel held Sam down, making it so he couldn’t move at all. There was pressure, a hand gripping the spear, sawing.

Weight snapped off of him.

“Sit him up,” Dean ordered.

As they hauled him up, it was then that Sam threw up, not even having the faculties to pitch to the side.

Castiel took off his coat and began to clean his mouth.

Then the angel must’ve taken off his belt, and it was getting forced into Sam’s mouth, leather joining the sour taste that had washed away that of the wood.

Sam was sure he wasn’t breathing.

And then he wasn’t sure of anything.

His existence had become pure torment.

Someone — probably Dean — grabbed what was left of the spear, and then horrible, ripping pressure went deeper, and deeper into Sam. It was so deep that it went past comprehension. He was being ripped apart.

Skin tore, and the spear stuck out of his back.

A hand reached behind him, and tore it out.

“Cas — fire,” Dean ordered.

Sam was held up by Dean, who was caressing his hair out of his face. Slowly, Sam’s vision came back to him. Dean smacked his chest a few times, as if trying to force him to breathe.

His lungs got the message, and did just that. Still, Sam trembled. He was drenched in sweat, and his own blood, which was gushing out like a fountain.

“We gotcha, Sammy. We gotcha.” 

Dean then put Sam’s torso between his knees, making Sam feel as if he was going to throw up again.

That would be god awful. His body couldn’t handle it. Throw up, and surely he’d die. There would be no coming back.

But he couldn’t even take deep breaths to quell the nausea, and the pain roiling through his stomach.

Dean tightened his knees against either side of Sam, till it hurt, and then some. But it held his blood in. And still, he held him up, telling him it would be okay.

Sparks struck nearby, Castiel crouching on the ground. Dean tossed him the angel blade, and Cas had to heat the end of the hilt due to the odd shape of it. It was the only part that could really press against Sam’s skin without slicing into him.

Dean moved his legs away, and Sam grasped at him.

His brother held his hands tight.

And then Sam burned.

His teeth nearly tore through the belt. Surely his scream was loud enough for even the fringes of the armies to hear. His body wanted him dead. The pain wanted him dead.

Finally, after seconds that lasted centuries, Sam’s wounds were cauterized.

Without having anything for bandages, Dean rushed out of his jacket, and flannel, baring himself to his undershirt. He took it off, and ripped it expertly, and quickly. Soon, Sam’s torso was getting wrapped in the black fabric.

And Castiel’s coat ended up covering Sam. Dean’s jacket cushioned his back, and they laid him back down.

The belt was gently taken from his mouth.

Tears streaked Sam’s filthy cheeks.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Dean told him.

But looking up at his family, at this strange place, and time, Sam wasn’t sure about that.

**Author's Note:**

> God, I had way too much fucking fun with this one. I legit could not stop writing this. It just came out. Hopefully I can get to the actual prompt for today next!


End file.
